“We will not discuss the matter further at this time,” interrupted the teacher.
“But what shall we do when the examination comes around,” asked the first speaker, “if you tell us to give the age of the earth, we shall either have to say that it is millions of years old or that it was made in six days?”
“Of course,” added the second student, with finality, “we shall have to stick to the Bible statement, even if you mark us down!”
“Rest easy in your minds, young men,” retorted the severely tried professor, “I don’t think I shall call on you to undergo such a martyrdom!”
Even the professor of elocution was not exempt from this little band of literalists. Some of this band had so firm a confidence in God that they “could leave with Him” what they were to speak, how they were to speak it, and the sort of gestures that should accompany their exhortations, for they were preparing themselves for the church. “Pa” Borden was the leader in this sort of thought. He had done some exhorting before becoming a member of the University, and he summed up the case quite well when he said, in his heavy, sober way,
“What right has any man, I don’t care who he is, to improve on what God has done, I’d like to know? It will be given us in that day, says the Bible, what we shall say and how we shall say it. What more do you want?”
So this little band of the sons of the prophets stood apart from the kindly and helpful criticisms of the professor of elocution, and continued their old practise of yanking their stiff arms, standing on their awkward feet, speaking from tight throats, in stubborn loyalty to their faith in God’s oratorical interest in them.
The patience, the Christian patience, of the professors carried them past such trivial, but real annoyances with the same nobleness with which a true-compassed ship goes straight to its port despite the little chips that tap against it. For every one of these quibblers over doctrine, there were several appreciative, awakening minds, leaping at the truth. The professors centered their real efforts on the majority of those who could face the truth no matter in how startling a dress it first presented itself. In such, these deep-hearted, sacrificing teachers found their real reward: lasting gratitude.
Chapter X. The Magnitude of
a Postage Stamp. Showing how
Desperate the Thirst of Money
made me. Brock’s Rosy Nose
and its Possibilities as a Fireplace.
How Brock thought he was Fooling
me and the Other Way About.
The Barrow that Became our
Enemy and how Brock was Revenged
on it
IT was a morning in early December. An unsealed letter lay on my table, a Christmas greeting to a mill friend. I had written it the previous night. When the morning dawned, I realized that I had not enough money with which to purchase a stamp for it. A feeling of utter miserableness took hold of me. There I stood, working my way through school successfully, from week to week without any difficulty, and yet when it came to forwarding a message of greeting to the outside world I was a pauper! That strong term mastered me. I knew that for the mere asking Thropper had a stamp waiting for me, but I resented the thought of charity, the humiliation of asking for the gift of a postage stamp. After chapel I went into the President’s office and on being shown in, made the following announcement.